


Hero Worship

by Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1)



Series: Transformers Fanfiction [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Violence, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gestalt1/pseuds/Chi-chi-chimaera
Summary: First Aid thought that meeting the Wreckers would be his dream. Things don't turn out that way.





	Hero Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my brain thinks the war-crimes squad has not done enough terrible things in their lives. I guess Impactor just gives off rapey energies.

Tartarus III was a miserable planet. First Aid was glad they were going to be leaving soon. The 'Cons had been kicked off-world after a final push and were retreating out of the system, abandoning this theatre of the war to the Autobots and to the organics who had owned this world before. The organics were welcome to it. It wasn't the type of place very friendly to cybernetic life. First Aid sighed into his drink. At least they had engex here. Tartarus III was rich in resources. That was what they had been fighting over. 

First Aid clicked open the port in his mask over his intake and poured in a deep gulp, feeling it burn all the way into his main fuel tank. He had been up to his elbows in people's internals all day. He deserved this. There had been a few too many that he just hadn't been able to save. He knew it wasn't his fault. It wasn't a lack of skill. They had been too badly off, had leaked too much energon before reaching him, or he simply hadn't had the parts to fix them... it was always like that. It didn't make things any easier. 

Hence the engex. Hence him sitting here drinking alone, despite plenty of opportunities for company. There were plenty of Autobots in the bar, commiserating or celebrating depending on how _their_ days had been. He probably knew some of them. Had probably had his servos inside some of them... 

The door swung open, letting in spits of acid rain along with the latest mech. There were a few murmurs from the crowd, a few cheers as well. It was unusual enough that First Aid looked up, and then had to suppress a squeak of excitement himself. That was... that was Impactor!

He'd known the Wreckers were on-world. He just had never expected to see any of them in person! 

Impactor gave a lazy grin to the room and pumped his fist in the air a few times in victory. The cheers intensified, drinks being lifted in his direction as mechs toasted him. A few people pushed through the crowds towards him, but Impactor ignored them, heading for the bar. Towards where First Aid was sitting. 

First Aid looked away, fairly sure that his faceplates were heating up. Impactor leaned against the bar-top _right next to him_ , and signalled for the bartender. "High-grade," the Wrecker ordered. "Whatever you've got that'll hit harder than the 'Cons did 'fore they ran off."

There was the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, and the glass being slid over to Impactor. First Aid could see the movement of his arm out of the corner of his optics as he lifted it to his intake and downed it in one go. 

"Pretty good," Impactor said. "Give me another one. And something for this little guy next to me."

First Aid shot upright, not sure if he had heard that right. When he looked over though, Impactor was grinning down at him. "That's right medic," he said. "You look like you need it."

"I... uh. Thank you." He wasn't about to refuse a free drink in general, and a drink from one of his personal heroes even less so. "So... uh. What brings a Wrecker to a joint like this?" Alone, now that he thought about it. Where was the rest of his team?

Impactor shrugged. "Felt like blowing off a little steam," he said. "Had a good work-out today. Killed some 'cons, the usual Wrecker thing. None of us got hurt much. I'm feeling good. Battle always gets my engine going, if you know what I mean."

First Aid was pretty sure he did. It was a fairly common thing at this point in the war. Almost dying did something to the survival drives. Made a mech want to interface the bolts off whoever was willing to swap paint with him. He understood the urge, and there were probably a dozen other bots in this same bar who were here obliquely looking for the exact same thing. 

Their drinks arrived. Impactor pushed one of them over to First Aid. It looked stronger than what he had been drinking, bubbling and fizzing slightly. He gulped down the last of his original drink and took a cautious sip. It tasted different too. His engine gave an embarrassing hiccup as the engex hit his tank, and he had to reset his optics. 

"Wow. That's... that's pretty strong."

"It's something, sweet-stuff."

The pet-name took a moment to register. It hit First Aid that, given what Impactor had just said, he'd sat down next to him for a reason. "Um, me?" he asked, pointing at his chestplates. "Really? I mean, you could have your pick..."

Impactor slung a friendly arm around his shoulders. "You're cute sweetstuff," he said. His plating was engine-hot against First Aid's. "I like cute. So, what do you think? Are you up for some fun tonight?"

First Aid had quite literally had dreams about this. He took a moment to centre himself before he answered, knowing he would just stumble over his words otherwise. "I am. I would... really, really like that."

Impactor smiled. "How 'bout we both finish our drinks then," he said, "and then we can head somewhere more private than all this. Our ship ain't far away. You ever wanted to see a _real_ sweet ride?"

First Aid could already feel the charge building behind his interface panels. His processor was swimming, lost somewhere between disbelief that this could be happening to _him_ of all people, lust, and the engex. He took another deep drink. Sooner he finished it, the sooner... 

Impactor laughed. "I like a mech that knows how to drink," he said. 

First Aid wasn't usually one to down engex like this, but his fans were already whirring in a way that _had_ to be audible. He didn't want to wait any longer - didn't think he _could_ wait much longer without embarrassing himself. His spike was pinging insistent signals to pressurise, and he could feel that slight trickle against the inside of his panel that meant his lubrication protocols were already online. He slammed his glass down against the counter and pushed himself up off his chair, then had to take a moment when his gyros didn't quite compensate. Huh. He knew it was strong, but he hadn't thought it was _that_ strong. 

"Easy 'lil guy, easy," Impactor said, sounding amused. He finished off his drink as well, standing and keeping a hold of First Aid as they started to navigate the crowds in order to leave. 

"I'm not _that_ little," First Aid found himself saying. That was true in general, but not so true when it came to Impactor. He knew about Impactor's history from 'Wreckers: Declassified'. He had been a miner before the war, and he was framed like it. Tall, broad, heavy-duty. He probably had a spike to match. First Aid had imagined what it would look like often enough. He was fairly certain it was going to be compatible with his valve, with a little preparation. His fans ticked into a higher gear as he thought about it. The stretch and burn... 

Impactor led him through the streets of the spaceport - if you could even call it that. The organics hadn't had anything suitable; Autobot engineers had put this place together at the start of the campaign, not intending for it to last very long, and it showed. He could see the ship they were heading towards over the top of the buildings, and it was just as impressive as Impactor had promised. Only the best for the Wreckers of course. 

The gangplank lowered as they approached. There was an airlock inside, which cycled through into a fairly spacious rec room. First Aid stopped the moment he stepped in, struck speechless. Yes okay, he had thought maybe the other Wreckers might be around but he hadn't wanted to push his luck even in his processor. But it seemed like this was the day that all of his dreams were coming true. _Everyone_ was here. 

Or, no, he thought, looking around. That wasn't quite right. There was no sign of the characteristic bright green of Springer. But all the other mechs on the current roster; Roadbuster, Rack'n'Ruin, Sandstorm, and Whirl. Whirl grunted a greeting, barely looking up from the gaming pad he was jacked into, but the other three actually sat up from the card game they had been bent over and beamed in Impactor's direction. 

"Now what do you got there?" Roadbuster said. His voice was a low rumble that made First Aid's internals feel like they were melting. He couldn't believe he was standing here. With the _Wreckers_. The very bots he had posters of in his room, whose exploits he had followed since the early days of the war. This was too good to be believed. 

"How 'bout you come meet the team," Impactor suggested. First Aid thought his spark would burst out of his chest. He nodded quickly, not trusting his voice. Impactor guided him by the arm towards the long couch that sat against one wall, sitting down and pulling First Aid onto his lap. First Aid squirmed slightly, caught off-guard by the position and slightly embarrassed by it. He thought the other Wreckers had probably guessed why Impactor had brought him back to their ship, but it was one thing implying what they would soon be off doing together in Impactor's habsuite, and another being so obvious in front of them all. 

"Now I'm gonna guess you know who everyone is, right?" Impactor said, arm wrapping around First Aid's waist. His fingers rubbed against the transformation seams at his side, sparking little bits of charge that went straight to his groin. First Aid couldn't help but wriggle slightly, but he was being held tightly in place. 

"Of... of course," he said. "You're the Wreckers - you're famous. You're heroes."

Impactor laughed. He wasn't the only one. "That's right," Sandstorm said, smirking. "Heroes, you hear that guys."

"You always know how to find us a groupie Impactor," Roadbuster said. "Guess you got an optic for it."

First Aid frowned, not letting himself be distracted by the ongoing rub of fingers over his plating. "Okay, I guess I am a fan," he said. "But I wouldn't call myself a _groupie._ "

"Sure," Impactor said, his vents so close to First Aid hot and damp and crackling with the static of his own charge. His other servo had been resting on First Aid's knee, now it started to wander higher, up his thigh, towards his panels. "You gonna say you weren't revved up and all over me in the bar? Aren't revved up right now?"

"Yes... yeah." First Aid's processor was swimming. Something didn't feel quite right here. His limbs felt loose and weak. He didn't feel overcharged. He knew what that was like, and it wasn't this. 

"There are bots like you wherever we go," Impactor said, mouthing against the cables of First Aid's neck. "Pieces of shareware ready to spread their legs for their _heroes_."

"Hey!" First Aid jolted, pushing against the arm around his waist and the servo drawing delicate, tantalising lines over his panel. "You don't get to call me that." The arms pinning him weren't moving. Why weren't they moving?

Someone laughed, but he wasn't sure who. "You came in here." That was Rack'n'Ruin. "Walked in of your own free will. That means we get to do whatever we like."

"No..." This was definitely wrong. "That's... that's not right."

"Come on and open up your panels already," Impactor said, a tinge of impatience colouring his voice. 

"You said we were going somewhere more private," First Aid insisted. The fingers on his panel were getting rougher, pressing into the seams. 

"Yeah," Impactor agreed. "That's here. Private as you could want."

More laughter. From a little further away First Aid heard Whirl say, "Will you guys stop playing with him already? I'm trying to concentrate here."

Impactor lifted his head away from First Aid's neck. "Nothing stopping you joining us Whirl," he said. "You don't have to sit over there and watch, pretending like it's not turning you on."

Whirl scoffed. "Yeah, 'cos I'm so functional down there as you all know."

More laughter. Why did it sound so ugly? "Aww, c'mon," Roadbuster said. "Senate didn't take your valve did they. He's gotta mouth."

It suddenly seemed desperately important that First Aid correct them there. "No, no, I have an intake. It's not the same."

"Hmmm." Roadbuster was suddenly there, leaning over him. Thick fingers wrapped around his face-mask. "Let's see then."

First Aid slid the mask panels aside, exposing the simple circular intake. An old design, though functional, without the glossa and lips of the fancy newer mouths most mechs had. Roadbuster's engine rumbled thoughtfully. A wide digit pushed against the spiralling metal petals that protected his intake, and he let them part fearful of damage. Roadbuster's finger delved deeper, making the mesh of his intake spasm around it. 

"Eh, guess it wouldn't work for you then Whirl," Roadbuster said. "Reckon we can do something with it though."

Panic was starting to work its way into First Aid's processor. The press against his interface panel was painful now as Impactor's fingers dug in, trying to pry it open. He writhed and tried to pull away, but that just pushed him against Roadbuster's digit in his intake. His optics were fritzing, spilling little wells of plasma. He wanted to purge, his tanks roiling, but he couldn't. 

"If you don't open that panel, I _am_ going to tear it off," Impactor said against his audial, low and dangerous. First Aid believed him. He disengaged his panel locks and it slid aside with a click. Impactor purred with pleasure, an engine rumble that transmitted between their plating where they touched. He slid a finger into First Aid's valve. It went in easily. 

"You see," Impactor said. "Look how wet you are for us, shareware. Are you _really_ still pretending you didn't want this?" 

First Aid whimpered around the digit in his intake, trying to talk, to protest that this wasn't what he had been thinking would happen at _all_ , but it came out muffled. Impactor pushed another finger in beside the first then started to pump them in and out slowly, his thumb circling First Aid's anterior node. It lit up with charge from the too-gentle pressure, waves of electricity sparking along his circuits. The callipers inside his valve clenched down hungrily, wanting something thicker than that teasing touch. This was monstrous. Horrible. He didn't want this, no matter what his frame might be saying. It would have been easier if Impactor had been less delicate, as though he was actually trying to make him feel good, as though this was real foreplay instead of... 

Instead of rape. First Aid shuttered his optics and tried not to sob. He couldn't pretend. That was what this was. 

"Oh shush," Impactor told him dismissively. 

"Maybe he's just begging for something a bit better than your fingers?" Sandstorm said hungrily. 

"Who gets first turn?" Roadbuster asked. His servo was still gripping First Aid's face, half in his intake. Aid reset his optics just a little, looking down. Roadbuster's spike was out, his free servo pumping over it slowly, spreading the trace of fluid from the tip along its length. It was massive. Far bigger than he had imagined Impactor's to be. Far bigger than even the largest of the toys he had hidden under his berth. He struggled in Impactor's grip all the harder, trying to force protests past the blockage in his throat. 

"Not you," Impactor said, a little impatiently. "You know you have to go last. No-one wants to fuck a valve you've torn to shreds."

First Aid almost screamed at that, optics flaring wide. No, no, he didn't want that inside him, he couldn't, no matter how much he was stretched before hand, it was simply outside of his frame's tolerances. He didn't think they cared. He didn't think he was going to get a choice about it. 

"You don't mind when it's Whirl's" Roadbuster muttered. 

"Leave me out of this," Whirl said sharply, from somewhere behind Roadbuster's bulk. 

"You could leave the room," Rack'n'Ruin suggested. "You're spoiling the mood."

Impactor vented out, hot against First Aid's neck. "Sandstorm, you spike him first."

" _Thank_ you," Sandstorm said, moving forwards, pushing Roadbuster out of the way. Roadbuster let go of First Aid's faceplates, finger sliding free with a wet pop. First Aid worked his intake through the spasms and urge to purge that followed, gasping. 

"Please, please stop this," he begged. "Please I don't want this, I don't."

Impactor hefted him up, slinging him around dizzyingly so that his back was pressed against Impactor's chestplates, legs spread wide over Impactor's own. Aid could feel he had his spike out. It rubbed damp and leaking against his aft. Impactor wrapped his arms over First Aid's thighs, keeping them well apart, baring his valve. First Aid shivered as the cold air ghosted over him, but that didn't last. Sandstorm was already pressing forwards. 

First Aid realised his own arms were free now. He lifted them up, even though they felt twice as heavy as they ought to. Something... something in his 'free' drink at the bar, he realised. Impactor had put his hand over it when he had slid it towards him... and it had tasted odd. He had been drugged. His servos met Sandstorm's chest and he tried to fend him off... the Wrecker just shoved his arms away with an irritated grunt and slammed his spike into Aid's valve. 

Wet as he was, there was no pain. Some part of him wished there was. Sandstorm vented out in pleasure and grabbed him by the hips, bucking forwards. "Slick as oil," he panted, charge skittering over his plating. First Aid whimpered and shuttered his optics, pinned between heavy frames on either side. Impactor was shifting his hips in time with Sandstorm's movements, a lazy rub of his spike over Aid's plating. 

"Why are you doing this?" First Aid asked, hating how weak and pathetic he sounded. "You're... you're the Wreckers. You're meant to be heroes! You're _Autobots_!"

"And you're a naive little idiot," Sandstorm said, ducking his helm down to bite sharp against Aid's collar struts. His spike was full in Aid's valve; it would have been good if this was _any other circumstance_. Callipers clenched, uncaring about petty concerns like consent. "Fragging _groupies_ , I swear. Need to be shown their place. Need to be shown how the world works." He started to pick up the pace. Metal creaked as his servos tightened on First Aid's hips. 

"I don't... please, please stop." Aid knew he wasn't making much sense, but he couldn't stop himself. He didn't really think begging was going to do him much good, but he didn't have anything else. "Please, I'll be good, I won't tell. Please, you could just let me go, you'll never hear from me again, please just..."

Sandstorm bit him again, deep enough to draw a few beads of energon. "Yeah, keep talking," he said, words rumbling into First Aid's neck. "I like it when they beg."

Hearing that Aid tried to bite back the words but they just kept coming, please and stop over and over again until they sounded meaningless. Anyway perhaps if he was begging Sandstorm would overload all the faster and this would be over... 

"Have you tried fragging an intake before?" Impactor asked, almost conversationally. Sandstorm slowed down a little, spike dragging in and out in a way that seemed practically thoughtful. First Aid stopped. No, no, he wanted him to finish, he wanted him _out_. 

"No, just regular mouths," he replied. "Why, is it worth it?"

"Better than a mouth I reckon," Impactor said. "Tighter, and less oral fluids. More like sticking it in an aft port."

First Aid shuddered, his plating rattling. He hadn't even thought... no, surely they wouldn't. Why bother making sure his valve was wet if they were going to... Behind him, Impactor laughed, and patted his inner thigh. 

"Oh yeah," he said. "My spike'll be going in there eventually, don't worry."

"No, _please_."

"Oh, haven't you taken it in your aft port before?" Impactor's voice was a low purr. He dragged his servo up the seam of Aid's leg to his array, where Sandstorm's spike was still pounding into his valve, and started to circle his anterior node. First Aid yelped, then cycled his intake closed so that the moan the movement forced from him didn't make it out. He thought they were still able to tell though. "It'll be good - for me mostly. Not so much for you, shareware. It'll be an experience though."

"I'm getting pretty close," Sandstorm said. "You think it's worth finishing in his intake instead?"

"I mean if you've never tried it before..."

"When have _you_ tried it?" Roadbuster asked, sounding suspicious. "I don't remember you bringing back anyone with an intake like that before."

"Not the groupies," Impactor said, as Sandstorm pulled out leaving Aid's valve clenching desperately around nothing. "Couple of prisoners sometimes. Gotta do _something_ with them 'fore they go off to whatever excuse of a prison we have." He reached up a servo to the back of First Aid's neck and shoved. Aid tumbled forwards, catching himself on his forearms before his faceplate collided with the floor. His legs were sprawled awkwardly on the sofa behind him. "I'll just keep this warm," Impactor continued, and shoved his spike into First Aid's valve. He was larger than Sandstorm had been, thick enough to burn as the callipers struggled to accommodate him. He grunted loudly. "Mmm, yeah. That's good."

Sandstorm knelt down in front of First Aid, grabbing him by the jaw. He looked at Aid's shuttered intake with a critical optic. His spike loomed in front of Aid's face, wet with his own lubricants. "You gonna open up?" he asked. "Or do I just push in?"

Impactor laughed. He was barely moving in Aid's valve, just the occasional slow drag that lit up all of the internal nodes in a maddening pattern of building charge. "You could just push in," he said. "Those little petals aren't gonna be able to keep you out."

First Aid shuttered his optics again, trembling. He wasn't sure that he could bring himself to open his intake, but he was afraid of what was going to happen if he didn't. He felt Sandstorm adjust the grip of his servos on his faceplates and then his spike was thrusting forward. Aid managed to force the spiral petals open just in time, though he felt some of them buckle anyway. 

It was much worse than just having a finger down there. Sandstorm was brutal about it, no slow pace to start, just pistoning thrusts right down the fuel tube, pushing the mesh apart and forcing it to stretch wider than it was meant to. Aid fought against it, trying to pull away, servos scrabbling against the armour plating around Sandstorm's array, but he was held too firmly. All he could do was fight against the confusion of error messages in his system, the urges to purge battling the warnings that there was a serious blockage in his intake that needed to be cleared. 

"Oh yeah, yeah," Sandstorm panted over him. "You were right Impactor, oh _Primus_ that's so tight. Mmmm." Charge crackled along his array, building higher and higher. Aid squeezed his optics shut despite the build-up of plasma discharge leaking from them and tried to wish himself somewhere, anywhere other than here. 

Sandstorm overloaded, transfluid pumping down his fuel tube, trickling into his tanks. _Contaminant identified_ , his system blared at him, not that First Aid could do anything about it. Sandstorm pulled away and he put his helm down letting the transfluid pour out in a thin sticky line. It puddled on the floor, bright pink against the grey decking. Not such a different colour than energon, he thought to himself muzzily. 

"I needed that after today," Sandstorm said. "Anyway, who's next? Or are you gonna finish in his valve after all Impactor?"

"You know me," Impactor replied. "I like to watch and wait." He pulled out of Aid's valve and reached over to grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him up. First Aid tried to keep his balance in the awkward position. He ended up mostly kneeling on the sofa with his legs still spread over Impactor's thighs. Impactor adjusted his grip and dipped a finger into the wet mess of Aid's array. "Think I need to get him prepped for our twinnies."

"Shut up," Rack'n'Ruin growled. "We're not related."

"Don't talk back to me when I'm doing you a favour," Impactor replied. He drew his finger out and moved it out, pressing into First Aid's aft port. Aid tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but it wasn't doing him any good. He might as well stop fighting, but it was instinctive to try and get away from what they were doing to him. 

How had he ever looked up to these mechs? How was it possible that they were capable of this - and not just to him by the sounds of it. Apparently he was far from the first that they had abused this way. 

"Please not that," he begged. "Please don't, you can use my valve I don't care just don't..." Impactor's finger pressed in anyway. The tight one-way seal breached and the stiff walls of the port started to stretch. It _hurt._ He'd known it would, he just hadn't thought it would be... Did some mechs really do this voluntarily? Impactor grunted, drew his finger out, coated it and a second finger again in Aid's valve, and pressed back in. First Aid whined, unable to help himself, impaled. Impactor kept at it until he decided he was satisfied. Then he stood up, bringing Aid with him and turned so that First Aid was dumped down onto his front. His chestplate hit the couch and his knees hit the floor. He could feel the paint there scraping off. It would probably match nicely with the paint transfers around his array and on the inside of his thighs, he thought despondently. 

"There you go," Impactor said. "All yours."

New servos grabbed at him. First Aid didn't move, burying his face in the giving steelmesh and padding of the couch. He felt a spike nudging at his aft port but... there was a spike at his valve opening as well. Startled and confused, he looked up and tried to see what was going on. Rack'n'Ruin sheathed themselves inside him in a single rough thrust that sent agony rocketing up his backstrut. He stopped thinking. He screamed. Someone - several someones - laughed. 

First Aid let his helm thump down onto his servos, grabbed at the fabric of the couch, and held on. Everything was on fire. Everything was pain. Every movement made him want to purge and he thought seriously about allowing his systems to do just that... but what if it made them angry? Right now they were amused - at his expense _yes_ , but... He couldn't imagine how it could get worse, he only was sure that it was possible. Besides, he was fairly sure Sandstorm had torn the lining of his intake and if he purged some of it might leak out into his internals. Primus, the thought was horrible. 

The sharp stabbing of Rack'n'Ruin pounding into his aft only partly disguised the movement of a second spike in his valve. Processor whirling, he tried to work out what was going on. Gradually it came to him. They had been two mechs at one point. They had been grievously injured, welded into one as part of their repairs. Someone must have decided this was... what? Funny? Erotic? Whatever the motivations, Rack'n'Ruin apparently had two spikes set one above the other. Just right to frag two holes at once, he thought with disgust. 

The couch shifted as Impactor sat down next to his head. "Now, you've got a choice," he said, in a conversational tone. Aid turned his helm just enough to look up at him. "My spike is gonna be overloading in one of those tight holes. It might be your aft, when Rack'n'Ruin is finished with it. Or, since I can see you're enjoying that so much maybe you want a distraction from it." He gestured to the jut of his spike between his legs. "How 'bout using that intake of yours again. If you play along, try and make it good for me, maybe I overload down there instead?" He smirked. "Up to you."

A particularly hard thrust pushed Aid against the couch. He was aware that he was crying, wisps of plasma floating up or burning into the steelmesh. He couldn't do anything about that. He thought there might be something wet trickling from his aft port down over the spike in his valve, but it was hard to be sure of a delicate sensation like that underneath everything else. He wouldn't be surprised though if he was leaking energon. 

Had Sandstorm fragging his intake been worse than this? No, he didn't think so. 

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, the words coming out shaky and weak. 

"Okay, what?" Impactor asked. "I do want to hear you say it."

"You can use my intake."

"Good boy," Impactor said, smiling. He shifted slightly and lifted First Aid up so that he could reach. Aid hovered, hesitating, over the spike. It looked very big now up close. Bigger than Sandstorm's. But surely it was better doing it like this then than in his aft port. 

Rack'n'Ruin was at least quiet. Impossible to ignore because of the pain, but he just grunted softly, vented out the work of roaring fans, and kept going. He didn't _taunt_. Not like Sandstorm had. 

He was delaying, he knew it. First Aid steeled himself, and lowered his intake down onto Impactor's spike, squeezing his optics shut. It was bad, Primus, it was so bad. His fuel lining convulsed, trying to expel what it thought was a dangerous blockage. He forced himself past it. Impactor's servo was steady on his helm, not forcing him down, just holding him. Fragger wanted this to be his choice. His work. Like that meant it wasn't still rape. 

Aid started to move. Forced himself to move. In a way it was easier to let himself be rocked by the motion of what Rack'n'Ruin was doing to him. He felt numb emotionally - certainly not numb physically. That would have been a relief. It was like someone had opened up his chestplates and pulled his spark out. Guttered him and left him dead and empty. He fragged his intake onto Impactor's spike and didn't think about anything at all.

"Wish I could fit in there," Roadbuster said from nearby, sounding irritated. "Not fair I always get sloppy seconds of a valve."

"You'll take what you're given," Impactor snapped at him. "It's still plenty tight for _you_. I don't wanna have to deal with a corpse at the end of the night, which I _would_ if you tried to fit yourself in his aft port."

Aid froze, losing his rhythm. Impactor growled, and slapped the back of his helm. "Pay attention to what you're doing shareware," he said. "Your spark isn't even in it."

Aid started up again. Rack'n'Ruin were picking up the pace behind him, letting out little moans of pleasure. Charge sparked along the circuit made between valve and spike, letting him know they were close. _Not much more, please not much more_ , Aid pleaded inside his processor. He didn't know who he was petitioning. Primus had nothing to do with any of this. Unicron maybe? 

He still had to take Roadbuster. In his valve though at least, there was that. Please let him overload quickly. Roadbuster had to have been petting that spike of his for... how long had it been? He didn't even know. Whatever Impactor had slipped in his drink seemed to be messing with his internal chronometer. 

He hardly felt the spurt of Rack'n'Ruin's transfluid inside him, but their servos tightened around his waist and they let out a soft gasp as they humped him through their overload, hips pressed in against his aft. It was still agonising when they pulled out, but at least in the aftermath his port subsided to a dull ache. There was definitely something leaking now, but hopefully more transfluid than energon. 

"Pity Springer pretends he's too good for this," Rack'n'Ruin commented as they stood up. 

"If he came out of his berth the night after a fight he would have to acknowledge that this is happening," Impactor said. He sounded derisive. "This way he can pretend we're not doing this. Coward." He raised his voice. "That make him better or worse than you Whirl? You could do a better job pretending you ain't watching."

Aid hadn't thought he was still in the room. "I'm just trying to finish my game," Whirl replied. "Can't do that somewhere else."

"Oh, I think you could," Impactor said. "Least you could join in."

"You said yourself he's not got a mouth," Whirl snapped. 

"I'm sure he could finger that sad excuse for a valve you have into some kind of overload," Impactor said. "Could even use his own slick on you, since you can't even get wet no more, you sad piece of slag."

"Frag you."

"Maybe later," Impactor said, and laughed. First Aid could feel it when his attention went back to him. "You know, I just don't think this is working," he said, with mock regret. Aid went stiff, but Impactor was already pulling him off his spike. 

"No... no you said you wouldn't..."

"If you could make me overload," Impactor replied. "That was a Pit's-poor job of it."

"Don't... don't." Aid didn't care how much he was sobbing as Impactor pulled him up to straddle his array again. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Impactor's engine purred as he reached down and fingered the mixture of energon and transfluid in Aid's port. 

"You're nice and open now," he said into Aid's audial. "Might be easier for you." Then he rolled so that Aid's back hit the couch and Impactor was poised over him, heavy hot frame covering his own entirely. His spike sank in. 

He might have been right. It was hard to judge one level of agony from another. Aid let himself go limp under Impactor, knowing he was scorching his paint with the plasma from his crying. Impactor was whispering into his ear, horrid words of praise, telling him what a good piece of aft he was, how tight, but he was barely listening. He was going away into himself. Perhaps Impactor realised what he was doing. He propped himself up over First Aid and hummed thoughtfully. 

"I guess you do deserve something nice, hmm shareware," he said. Then one servo was down at the front of Aid's array, teasing at his spike cover which had been untouched until now. First Aid squirmed, not sure what he was trying to do. Impactor massaged the tip of his spike where it was peeking out with his thumb, slowing his thrusts into Aid's aft so that the pain faded a little. 

Appalled, First Aid realised he was actually getting charged up from it. 

Impactor teased his spike out until it was fully pressurised and kept a steady rhythm of his servo on it. Aid found himself bucking his hips up, just a little, just slightly, chasing that narrow edge of pleasure that took him away from the pain. He thought about begging again, but he wasn't sure how it would come out, please stop, or please let me overload. He didn't _want_ to know how it would come out. He lost himself in the sensation - Impactor seemed willing at least to let him do that. Having him writhe underneath him seemed to be just growing Impactor's own charge, from the muttered curses and pleased words that came from his mouth. Aid ignored it. This didn't mean anything. It didn't mean he had wanted this. It didn't mean... 

Overload took him quick and unprepared. Bright light and heat and pressure sparking throughout his circuits, arching his backstrut, pushing himself up against the frame over him. He was aware that he was moaning as Impactor worked him through it, transfluid splashing onto his abdominal plating. 

"Yeah you fragging... fragging slut," Impactor said, and overloaded himself. 

First Aid came back to himself at some point. Impactor had rolled off him, and was standing next to the couch, stretching. 

"I guess you can finish him off now," he said to Roadbuster, hovering nearby with his spike still in servo. 

"About time," Roadbuster said. His frame loomed over Aid's. First Aid was too tired to think about anything. Moving. Fighting. He would just lie here and let Roadbuster do whatever he needed to do to him and then... And then what? What were they going to do with him? Push him out the door of their ship like this, covered in their fluids? 

What was _Aid_ going to do? 

Roadbuster pushed his legs apart. His spike bobbed above Aid's array. It was... it was really big. He'd seen that before but he hadn't really measured it up so exactly against his own frame... had forgotten how massive... 

Roadbuster pushed in. Aid jerked, yelled, sure that at some point he was going to have to stop because he... he didn't fit! He was too huge, too thick. The taper from the tip of his spike had made the first bit slide in fine but as he widened towards the base Aid could feel it stretching him further and further and... 

He felt something between his legs tear. Roadbuster seated himself with a satisfied grunt. "You're gonna need your own medical services once I'm done with ya," he said, and started to move. 

At some point Aid blanked out. He might have gone into some kind of light stasis, systems throwing up too many damage errors to remain fully online. He didn't know. All he was aware of was being slammed into the couch mesh, and the seep of energon between his legs. 

\----

Someone was patting his faceplates and shouting his name. First Aid came out of stasis slowly. Everything hurt. He tried to move. Everything hurt much more. Particularly in his array. 

"What... what's going on?" he asked. 

"Aid, please wake up," the voice begged him. He onlined his optics to see that Ambulon was kneeling over him. They were just outside the clinic... how had he gotten here? He had been drinking after the last of the surgeries was over...

There was some kind of mesh blanket over him. That was... nice. 

"Aid, can you move?" Ambulon asked him. He voice was tremulous. 

"Not sure," First Aid replied. Why did he hurt so much... 

The memories filtered back in slowly. He went stiff, still lying on the street, covered by the blanket the Wreckers must have wrapped him in to carry him here so no-one would see what they had done... 

"I'm going to get help," Ambulon said. "We need to get you inside."

"No! Wait!" He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Bad enough Ambulon already had. He focused on pushing himself to his pedes, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. He couldn't... he couldn't think about this too hard. He felt like an organic egg, ready to break open at any moment. "I can... I can manage."

He was going to have to manage. He was... 

He didn't know what he was going to do now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be very awkward when First Aid joins the Lost Light and has to work with Whirl.


End file.
